TREASURED WRONGS.
"Revenge, at first though sweet,
Bitter ere long back on itself recoils."--MILTON.
The next day was Sunday. True generally went to church half the day at
least, with the sexton's family; but Gerty having no bonnet could not
go, and True would not leave her. So they spent the morning wandering
round among the wharves and looking at the ships, Gerty wearing her old
shawl over her head.
Willie came in the evening to say good-bye before returning to Mr.
Bray's. He was in a hurry, for his master had his doors closed early,
especially on a Sunday night. But Mr. Cooper made his usual visit; and
when he had gone, True, finding Gerty sound asleep on the settle,
thought it a pity to wake her, and laid her in bed with her clothes on.
She did not wake until morning; and then, surprised and amused at
finding herself dressed, ran out to ask True how it happened. True was
making the fire; and Gerty having been told all about it, helped to get
the breakfast ready, and to put the room in order. She followed Mrs.
Sullivan's instructions, and in a few weeks she learned to make herself
useful in many ways, and, as Mrs. Sullivan had prophesied, gave promise
of becoming a clever little housekeeper. Her active and willing feet
saved True many steps, and she was of essential aid in keeping the rooms
neat, that being her especial ambition. Mrs. Sullivan looked in
occasionally, to praise and assist her; and nothing made Gerty happier
than learning how to do some new thing. She met with a few trials and
discouragements, to be sure. Kate M'Carty thought her the smartest child
in the world, and would oft come in and wash the floor, or do some other
work which required more strength than Gerty possessed.
One Sunday Gerty, who had a nice little hood, bought by True, was
returning with Mr. Cooper, Mr. Flint, and Willie, from the afternoon
service at church. The two old men were engaged in discussion, and the
children talked earnestly about the church, the minister, the people,
and the music, all of which were new to Gerty, and greatly excited her
wonder.
As they drew near home, Willie remarked how dark it was growing in the
streets; and then, looking down at Gerty, whom he held by the hand, he
said, "Gerty, do you ever go out with Uncle True, and see him light the
lamps?"
"No, I never did," said Gerty, "since the first night I came. I've
wanted, but it's been so cold, he would not let me; he said I'd have the
fever again."
"It won't be cold this evening," said Willie; "it'll be a beautiful
night; and, if Uncle True's willing, we will go with him. I've often
been; you can look into the windows and see folks drinking tea, and
sitting round the fire in their parlours."
"And I like to see him light those great lamps," said Gerty; "they make
it look so bright and beautiful all around. I hope he'll let us go; I'll
ask him; come," said she, pulling him by the hand.
"No--wait," said Willie; "he's busy talking with grandpa--we can ask him
at home."
As soon as they reached the gate she broke away from him, and, rushing
up to True, made known her request. He readily consented, and the three
soon started on the rounds.
For a time Gerty's attention was so engrossed by the lamplighting that
she could see and enjoy nothing else. But when they reached the corner
of the street, and came in sight of a large apothecary's shop, her
delight knew no bounds. The brilliant colours displayed in the windows
captivated her fancy; and when Willie told her that his master's shop
was similar she thought it must be a fine place to spend one's life in.
Then she wondered why this was open on Sunday, when all the other stores
were closed, and Willie, stopping to explain, they found that True was
some distance in advance. He hurried Gerty along, telling her that they
were now in the finest street they should pass through, and they must
haste, for they had nearly reached the house he most wanted her to see.
When they came up with True, he was placing his ladder against a post
opposite a fine block of buildings. Many of the front windows were
shaded, so that the children could not see in; but some had no curtains,
or they had not yet been drawn. In one parlour there was a pleasant
wood-fire, around which a group were gathered; and here Gerty would fain
have lingered. In another, a brilliant chandelier was lit, and though
the room was vacant, the furniture was so showy, and the whole so
brilliant, that the child clapped her hands in delight, and Willie could
not prevail upon her to leave the spot, until he told her that farther
down the street was another house, equally attractive, where she would
perhaps see some beautiful children.
"How do you know there'll be children there?" said she, as they walked
along.
"I don't know, certainly," said Willie; "but I think there will. They
used always to be up at the window when I came with Uncle True, last
winter."
"How many?" asked Gerty.
"Three, I believe; there was one little girl with such beautiful curls,
and such a sweet, cunning little face. She looked like a wax doll, only
a great deal prettier."
"Oh, I hope we shall see her!" said Gerty, dancing along on the tops of
her toes.
"There they are!" exclaimed Willie; "all three, I declare, just as they
used to be!"
"Where?" said Gerty; "where?"
"Over opposite, in the great stone house. Here, let's cross over. It's
muddy; I'll carry you."
Willie lifted Gerty carefully over the mud, and they stood in front of
the house. True had not yet come up. It was he that the children were
watching for. Gerty was not the only child that loved to see the lamps
lit.
It was now quite dark, so that persons in a light room could not see any
one out of doors; but Willie and Gerty had so much better chance to look
in. The mansion was a fine one, evidently the home of wealth. A clear
coal fire, and a bright lamp in the centre of the room, shed abroad
their cheerful blaze. Rich carpets, deeply-tinted curtains, pictures in
gilded frames, and huge mirrors, reflecting the whole on every side,
gave Gerty her first impressions of luxurious life. There was an air of
comfort combined with all this elegance, which made it still more
fascinating to the child of poverty and want. A table was bountifully
spread for tea; the cloth of snow-white damask, the shining plate, above
all, the home-like hissing tea-kettle, had a most inviting look. A
gentleman in gay slippers was in an easy chair by the fire; a lady in a
gay cap was superintending a servant-girl's arrangements at the
tea-table; and the children of the household, smiling and happy, were
crowded together on a window-seat, looking out, as we have just
narrated.
They were sweet, lovely-looking little creatures; especially a girl, of
the same age as Gerty, the eldest of the three. Her fair hair fell in
long ringlets over a neck as white as snow; she had blue eyes, a cherub
face, and a little round plump figure. Gerty's admiration and rapture
were such, that she could find no expression for them, and directing
Willie's notice first to one thing and then another; "Oh, Willie, isn't
she a darling? and see what a beautiful fire--what a splendid lady! What
is that on the table? I guess it's good! There's a big looking-glass;
and oh, Willie! an't they dear, handsome children?"
True now came up, and as his torch-light swept along the side-walk Gerty
and Willie became the subjects of notice and conversation. The
curly-haired girl saw them, and pointed them out to the notice of the
other two. Though Gerty could not know what they were saying, she did
not like being stared at and talked about; and hiding behind the post,
she would not move or look up, though Willie laughed at her, and told
her it was now her _turn_ to be looked at. When True moved off, she
began to run, so as to escape observation; but Willie calling to her,
and saying that the children were gone from the window, she ran back to
have one more look, and was just in time to see them taking their places
at the tea-table. Then the servant-girl drew down the window-blinds.
Gerty then took Willie's hand, and they tried to overtake True.
"Shouldn't you like to live in such a house as that, Gerty!" said
Willie.
"Yes, indeed," said Gerty; "an't it splendid?"
"I wish I had just such a house," said Willie. "I mean one of these
days."
"Where will you get it?" exclaimed Gerty, much amazed at so bold a
declaration.
"Oh, I shall work, and grow rich, and buy it."
"You can't; it would take a lot o' money!"
"I know it; but I can earn a lot, and I will, too. The gentleman that
lives in that grand house was a poor boy when he first came to Boston;
and why can't one poor boy get rich as well an another?"
"How do you suppose he got so much money?"
"I don't know how _he_ did; there are a great many ways. Some people
think it's all luck, but I guess it's as much smartness as anything."
"Are you smart?"
Willie laughed. "An't I?" said he. "If I don't turn out a rich man one
of these days, you may say I an't."
"I know what I'd do if I was rich," said Gerty.
"What?" asked Willie.
"First, I'd buy a great nice chair for Uncle True, with cushions all in
the inside, and bright flowers on it--just exactly like that one the
gentleman was sitting in; and next, I'd have great big lamps, ever so
many all in a bunch, so as to make the room as _light_--as _light_ as it
could be!"
"Seems to me you're mighty fond of lights, Gerty," said Willie.
"I be," said the child. "I hate old, dark, black places; I like stars,
and sunshine, and fires, and Uncle True's torch----"
"And I like bright eyes!" interrupted Willie; "yours look just like
stars, they shine so to-night. An't we having a good time?"
"Yes, real."
And so they went on--Gerty dancing along the side-walk, Willie sharing
in her gaiety and joy, and glorying in the responsibility of
entertaining and protecting the wild little creature. They talked of how
they would spend that future wealth which they both calculated upon one
day possessing; for Gerty had caught Willie's spirit, and she, too,
meant to work and grow rich. Willie said his mother was to wear a gay
cap, like that of the lady they had seen; this made Gerty laugh. She
thought that demure little widow would be ridiculous in a flowered
headgear. Good taste is inborn, and Gerty had it in her. She felt that
Mrs. Sullivan, attired in anything that was not simple, neat, and
sober-looking, would altogether lose her identity. Willie had no selfish
schemes; the generous boy suggested nothing for his own gratification;
it was for the rest he meant to labor, and in and through them that he
looked for his reward. Happy children! What do they want of wealth? What
of anything, material or tangible, more than they now possess? They have
what is worth more than riches or fame--they are full of childhood's
faith and hope. With a fancy and imagination unchecked by
disappointment, they are building those same castles that so many
thousand children have built before, that children will always be
building to the end of time. Far off in the distance they see bright
things, and know not what myths they are. Undeceive not the little
believers, ye wise ones! Check not that God-given hopefulness, which
will, perhaps, in its airy flight, lift them in safety over many a rough
spot in life's road. It lasts not long at the best; then check it not,
for as it dies out the way grows hard.
They had reached the last lamp-post in the street, but scarcely had they
gone a dozen steps before Gerty stopped short, and, positively refusing
to proceed any further, pulled hard at Willie's hand, and tried to
induce him to retrace his steps.
"What's the matter, Gerty?" said he, "are you tired?"
"No, oh no! but I can't go any further."
"Why not?"
"Oh, because--because--" and here Gerty putting her mouth close to
Willie's ear, whispered, "there is Nan Grant's; I see the house! I had
forgot Uncle True went there; and I am afraid!"
"Oho!" said Willie, drawing himself up with dignity, "I should like to
know what you're afraid of, when I'm with you! Let her touch you if she
dares! And Uncle True, too!--I _should_ laugh."
Very kindly did Willie plead with the child, telling her that Nan would
not be likely to see _them_, but they might see _her_; and that was just
what he wanted--nothing he should like better. Gerty's fears were soon
allayed. When they stood in front of the house, Gerty was rather hoping
than otherwise to catch sight of Nan. Nan was standing opposite the
window, engaged in an animated dispute with one of her neighbours. Her
countenance expressed great anger, and her face was now so sufficient an
index to her character, that no one could see her thus and afterwards
question her right to the title of vixen, virago, or scold.
"Which is she?" said Willie; "the tall one, swinging the coffee-pot in
her hand? I guess she'll break the handle off, if she don't look out."
"Yes," said Gerty, "that's Nan."
"What's she doing?"
"Oh, she's fighting with Mrs. Birch; she does always with somebody. She
don't see us, does she?"
"No, she's too busy. Come, don't let's stop; she's an ugly-looking
woman, just as I knew she was. I've seen enough of her, and I'm sure you
have--come."
Gerty lingered. Courageous in the knowledge that she was safe and
unseen, she was gazing at Nan, and her eyes glistened, not with the
innocent excitement of a cheerful heart, but with the fire of kindled
passion--a fire that Nan had kindled long ago, which had not yet gone
out, and which the sight of Nan had now revived in full force. Willie,
thinking it was time to be at home, and perceiving Mr. Flint and his
torch far down the street, left Gerty, and started himself, to draw her
on, saying, "Come, Gerty, I can't wait."
Gerty turned, saw that he was going, then, quick as lightning, stooped,
and picking up a stone, flung it at the window. There was a crash of
broken glass, and an exclamation in Nan's well-known voice; but Gerty
was not there to see the result. The instant she heard the crash her
fears returned, and flying past Willie, she paused not until she was
safe by the side of True.
Willie did not overtake them until they were nearly home, and then came
running up, exclaiming, breathlessly, "Why, Gerty, do you know what you
did?--You broke the window!"
Gerty jerked her shoulders from side to side to avoid Willie, pouted,
and declared that was what she meant to do.
True inquired what window? and Gerty acknowledged what she had done, and
avowed that she did it on purpose. True and Willie were shocked and
silent. Gerty was silent too, for the rest of the walk; there were
clouds on her face, and she felt unhappy in her little heart.
Willie bade them good night at the house door, and as usual they saw no
more of him for a week.